Grief, Subject to Change
by Primadonna
Summary: AU as of the middle of "The Gift". Dawn dies instead, and Buffy and Spike leave the country.
1. Comfort

Title:  
  
Author: Primadonna  
  
Rated: R ( I don't know why yet, just giving myself a little liberal space as far as censoring myself.)  
  
Summary: Set at the end of season five, except instead of Buffy dying, Dawn died. Story is set directly after death, tells about the event through flashbacks and will all eventually be clear if it isn't right away, so don't worry.  
  
Pairings: Spike and Buffy are together, just sort of. under odd circumstances. You'll see what I mean  
  
Please, please, please REVIEW. I swear, this story I will be updating as much as humanly possible, because this is actually a challenge me and my friend are doing. When she puts her story up, I'll let you guys know. She's an excellent writer.  
  
Dedicated to Es, who introduced me to the world of fan fiction, especially fanfiction.net, has encouraged me, listened to all of my half-baked plans about EVERYTHING, and has listened to me ramble on about my obsession with Spike forever. You Rock, luv.  
  
*^^^*^^^*^^^*  
  
Grief, grief, I suppose and sufficient  
  
Grief makes us free  
  
To be faithless and faithful together  
  
As we have to be.  
  
D.H. Lawrence, Hymn to Priapus (l. 57-60).  
  
  
  
Spike found her on the apartment's balcony, staring out on a horizon that would not light for hours yet. Her legs were tucked primly under her, hands splayed over her thighs. She didn't hear him approach, so lost in her thoughts. Sometimes she would wake him up when the dreams came, maybe crawl into bed with him when she thought he was still asleep. Other nights she would distance herself for days, itching for a good spot of violence, numb from all feeling otherwise. There was never any pattern, or at least none he could pick up on. The dreams were just as frequent as they had been since the beginning, she still saw her sister die again, albeit she had stopped screaming somewhere down the road, he wasn't sure when. She simply just took the memory of what she considered her failure as penance for not being as quick as she should have been.  
  
He sat down beside her on the wrought iron bench, and gingerly placed his hand over hers. She did not recoil as she once would have, so he kept it there. They sat in silence like this for awhile, until he was completely sure that she knew he was there, then he broke the silence.  
  
"The watcher called."  
  
Buffy barely acknowledged, simply nodded. Spike pressed on.  
  
"Where'd you figure he picked up the number? I made sure it was bloody difficult to track us down this time."  
  
"You didn't speak to him, did you?" Buffy looked at him finally, her eyes dark from lack of sleep.  
  
"No, luv, he left a message. I didn't erase it, figured you would want to listen to it." Again she nodded. "Maybe later." She nodded a third time, then changed the subject abruptly.  
  
"Let's go out for breakfast. We have a few hours until you're, you know," she gestured smoke around her.  
  
"I don't know, pet, we'd be cutting it a little close. Especially after seeing that bloke from the council just a few days ago."  
  
"Spike. I need to leave. I can't be here right now. Are you coming with me or not, is what I'm asking." She raised her chin defiantly, now fully in the present, which made him thrilled beyond belief.  
  
"All right," he shrugged. Not like he could or ever had denied her anything he could give her. That's why they were there now, wasn't it?  
  
****  
  
Despite the late, or, as the case may be, very early hour, the café just a block away from the apartment had a steady number of patrons, all stopping in on the way home from the night on the town. A couple was dressed black and white formalwear, with opera programs in hand. Young lovers searched for the privacy the booths offered.  
  
Buffy chose a small table beside a full-length window, a striking view of the canals with the dozen of sleeping gondolas tied to poles.  
  
Spike returned with two mugs and a tray full of food. It became a familiar act; she would drink dangerous amounts of espresso (sugar) while he would lay our all the shop's pastries in front of her, coaxing her to eat. Today he lined up a cheese scone, a blueberry muffin, and two or three other provisions.  
  
"You can't really call it breakfast if you don't eat anything," spike reminded her, drumming his fingers on the cherry oak table top. She rolled her eyes.  
  
"If I was hungry, I'd eat," she answered sourly, though they both knew how successful that was; her previously slender frame had become skeletal; had it not been for her Slayer strength Spike very much doubted she would have been able to gather enough energy to move. Spike said nothing, but he watched her pick at the muffin. Trying to hide his great relief at his minor victory, he began to eat a croissant, although he could never understand why anyone would ever eat a croissant outside of France. Maybe Buffy would like Paris.  
  
"Do you ever miss it?" Buffy asked him quietly, her face turned to the water.  
  
"Miss what- Sunnyhell?" he scoffed. "Not bleedin' likely."  
  
She snorted back, "Could've fooled me- you came back often enough."  
  
He knew now after much reflection why- it had always been because of her. First to kill her, then out of drunken depression, then by the intense need to annoy her even when he couldn't kill her. When he'd fallen into lust, and then love, with her, he knew it must have been in his subconscious. He was always a wanker.  
  
He didn't answer because he was pretty sure she knew why, or she didn't want it articulated. Things like that just went unsaid now, died somewhere between him and her. She'd always demanded a certain amount of obliviousness around her, and for her friends to follow suit. She needed that more than the typical person, the impression on the surface that everything was as it should be. He wasn't her vampire lover that had spirited her away from her old life and duties after the death of her sister. They were two young people out for café in Venice, like all of the other couples around them.  
  
They finished their coffee in silence.  
  
**** I'm really in love with this story idea and will be updating as much as my crazy concept allows. I really need suggestions though, if you have any, or if you can point out any major continuation flaws. Also, does anyone have the script on-line of "The Gift"? It would really help me out with the next chapter.**** 


	2. We Band of Buggered

If murder is forgiven, Heaven will find it hard to bear.

Chinese proverb.

Nothing had gone as it should have. She should have been able to stop it,  or to at least save her sister.

Instead, she was here sitting in an anonymous café in Venice, the city she had always dreamt of. It should have been beautiful, everything she imagined. Instead she saw corpses. 

She knew Spike tried to block out the pain with new surroundings. All the Palazzos, the food, the Music, the Armenian island… it was a heady mix. Sometimes it was enough to dull the pain and anger, but little else.

Buffy also knew she should have began the healing process by now, but she wouldn't allow herself to. She felt a certain primal pain that before had been alien to her. Her friends, who had always been there to help her save the day had instead saved the world without her. She wouldn't allow herself to be betrayed again, and the pain, like continuously forcing herself to pull at stitches, reminded her of this promise.

Spike was different. The only person he had loved more than Dawn had been herself. They shared the same fate, she thought. He had been as close to saving Dawn as she had been, both tore down at the platform, mere feet away. Neither had given up the fight.

Doc. He had been the unexpected element, what had been between life and death.

Doc had been calm, after having so easily gotten rid of Spike; one push had been all it had taken. He looked eager as the Slayer approached. "This should be interesting."

            She had underestimated the monster. Buffy tried to go past him, throwing out her arm to push him off the platform, much like what he had done to Spike. Instead he grabbed her arm, keeping his balance. Buffy fell to the ground, hard. His back to the stairs, he looked down on her. He stepped on her leg, crushing something. Buffy cried out in pain, then grit her teeth, not giving him the pleasure.

            "You're too late, Ms. Summers. It's a pity the monks made the key a living thing. A sister, no less. Too bad you didn't have time to thank them properly." He smiled cruelly. "If it's any consolation you won't be around long enough to miss her."

            He looked at the growing portal, electricity crackling purple. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, leaning over farther to look directly into her eyes. "We'll just wait now. The key is patience. You know, I've lived in Sunnydale for a very long time. Since before your great grandparents were born. He straightened, checking his watch. "Only a few minutes now."

            Buffy tried to think, her thoughts spinning, centred on everything around her. She  was swimming around the edges of oblivion. The steel was warm under her, from both the threshold and her own sticky blood.

            She heard Dawn crying over the screaming of the demons emerging from the cloud-like gateway beneath them. "No Dawn, don't cry.." Buffy began to sing their mother's favourite lullaby.

"Oh God." Xander watched with horror at what was happening above their heads. All they could make out was a figure standing over Buffy. "Why isn't she getting up?"

            Willow and Tara, having just found each other again, clung together. Anya stood beside Xander, her arms wrapped around herself. Giles came up to the four, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Well, once again we averted an apocalypse. Anyone car for a ride home?" 

            Xander looked at the older man in disbelief, "What do you mean?"

            "Well, Glory has been… disposed of in her human form."

            "You mean. You mean you killed Ben," Willow said quietly. 

            "There was no other way. He had to be eliminated otherwise he would have returned as-" Tara pointed up.

            "Then who is that?"

            "We still- after all that and we still have-" Xander put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. "We still have to kill Dawn."

            Anya went running for the stairs, Xander after her. He grabbed her wrist and she spun around. "No, Xander. I am _not_ letting any of you do it. You won't go through with it. I have to go through with it now though, or I won't be able to do it either." Xander simply nodded his head and handed her a thin silver knife wordlessly. Anya kissed him and began to run.

"Only a few minutes now," Doc sing-songed. He continued to stand over Buffy, more relaxed now. "Oh, don't look so depressed. You have not only the distinction of being one of the oldest Slayers, but the last one as well." He had the air of a proud father for a moment before he turned his attention to Dawn. 

            "I don't know why the monks made you. Why not just destroy?…" The lizard cupped the young girl's face. He ripped his hand away as she tried to bit him savagely. "Still fighting to the end, I see. Look at that, just under your feet. You did that. Because your sister had too much love, she let you live. Were she to simply put a pillow over your head while you were sleeping the entire world would have been saved. Isn't that selfish? She would have been wise in remembering that a Slayer is death, not the harbinger of peace. She works more on our side that you all care to admit."

            Halfway through his speech Dawn had stopped struggling and remained transfixed on the monster. With her wide eyes she was little more than a doll. 

            Death is my gift, Buffy thought feverishly, but you can't give death… I would sooner kill myself…

            It's always blood, Spike had told them at the Magic Box. The monks had made Dawn from her… would it…

            Doc stood motionless between the two sisters. The portal was widening but not growing high, only a few feet under the platform. Buffy lifted her head just enough to meet Dawn's blank stare, and in that instant she knew it would work. She and Dawn had the same blood. 

            "The blood flows, the gates will open. The gates will close when it flows no more." Giles' words committed to memory. Her blood. Dawn was made from her. She would jump, if only she could move…

            Doc didn't hear Anya approach. Buffy didn't until her friend was directly behind her.

            "Anya.." Buffy whispered as to not attract attention from the demon. Anya paused, as if she had heard her, but did not look at Buffy on the ground. Instead she stepped over the girl. 

            Buffy was amazed by the brutality the ex-demon showed. Without Doc even having time to look up she buried the knife up to the hilt into his back in quick succession. The demon screamed as he was stabbed four, five times. He screamed over and over as he fell into the portal was torn by the pins of electrical energy. The creatures ripped him up, swallowing, leaving no remains.

            Anya watched the fall, never flinching even as Buffy had to turn away. When the screams died she still wouldn't make eye contact with Buffy.

            "Anya, I know how.." but Anya had already turned away from her. She began to saw at the ropes that held Dawn in place, the knife slippery with Doc's blood. There was blood blanketing the platform, with Dawn's at her feet, dripping and disappearing into the purple cloud below. Buffy's mostly lay in close proximity to her crushed leg.

            "Anya," Buffy kept yelling over and over again. Anya continued to hack at the ropes. After what felt like the longest minutes in all of their lives Dawn was finally free. The teenager leapt into Anya's arms and held fast, tears running freely. Buffy continued to yell, to no avail; she was being ignored, and she couldn't understand why in her injured state. 

At some point Spike had regained consciousness. He pulled himself upright, propping himself on the pile of rubble he had fallen into. Being a vampire he was able to make out what was happening on the tower far better than any person. He saw the portal open underneath the platform. He saw Dawn, now free from her restraints, clinging to Buffy. As his eyes got more accustomed to the light however, the figure Dawn was grabbing a hold of revealed itself to be Anya. Why was Buffy lying down? He caught the glint of the blade as Anya moved it in towards Dawn.

"Let go, Dawn," Anya told the girl. Both were crying; one thought she was safe and the other knew better. "You have to be strong," Anya told her. Dawn, in her fright and shock, clung. "dawn, you need to let go. We tried our best but we couldn't…" Anya took a step back, moving towards Buffy. She couldn't dare look back. Dawn wouldn't loosen her grip and as the portal grew, growling, Anya became panicked. It began a mad wrestle, until finally Anya brought the knife down into the fourteen-year old girl's abdomen. Dawn jumped back, and lost her balance, falling below…

            Buffy's view had been obstructed by Anya between her and Dawn. She watched as Dawn stumbled and fell over the edge.    

            Anya turned to her then, a bloody knife held up, elbow high. "I'm sorry," she whispered as black flooded Buffy's vision.


	3. Loose Ends

And fade into the common light of day. William Wordsworth  
  
  
  
Giles and Xander carried Buffy down from the tower on a makeshift stretcher. She remained unconscious throughout the trip. Once they were on the ground the only words came out of necessity.  
  
"Xander, drive Buffy to the hospital," Giles delegated. "Tara and Willow tend to Spike, make sure the knife wound is clean, and then get him some blood. Make sure he gets to his crypt." He took a moment to consider Anya. "You may want to go home. I don't expect you'll be able to sleep, but you should be exhausted. I have a prescription that may help you if you'd like." Giles and Anya now shared a common bond: both had killed an innocent out of obligation within a half hour of each other.  
  
Anya nodded and after Giles set Buffy into Xander's car he went to his own and extracted a vial of blue pills from the glove compartment.  
  
"Do you want any?" she asked. Giles raised a hand. "I have more at home." Anya weighed this for a moment, then turned towards home.  
  
Spike began to limp to his crypt, barely registering the pain in his shoulder. He knew he had only a short time to make it back, before the sun came up. Willow and Tara said nothing, just followed him, quickening their pace as he did. Giles was left alone.  
  
Dawn lay on a wooden crate as though she had been placed there rather than fallen a hundred feet. Her features were peaceful, a sharp contrast to the grimace of horror it had held in the last few moments of her life. Giles tried to maintain the same sterile numbness as when he had smothered Ben. He had no time for his own emotions to get in the way, he had numerous bodies to move before the police finally showed up in the morning. Everyone in Sunnydale knew the police didn't dare come out at night, leaving the time to a young girl to solve their problems, Giles thought bitterly. He decided to leave Dawn until last. 


	4. Allies

Grief remains one of the few things that has the power to silence us. It is a whisper in the world and a clamour within. More than sex, more than faith, even more than its usher death, grief is unspoken, publicly ignored except for those moments at the funeral that are over too quickly, or the conversations among the cognoscenti, those of us who recognize in one another a kindred chasm deep in the center of who we are. Anna Quindlen  
  
  
  
"Hey Buffy, how are you feeling?" Willow asked, coming into her friend's darkened room, despite it being the middle of a summer day. The blinds were shut tight and no lights were on, but Willow knew her friend was awake; she didn't sleep, just sat up in bed. "I brought you lunch." Willow didn't expect an answer; it had been nearly a week since Dawn's death. At the hospital Buffy had been bandaged up and sent home the same morning on Xander's insistence, and then Giles who had come in a few hours later. They didn't want the doctor's questioning how fast she was healing. Doctors, like everyone else in Sunnydale, were usually blind to this sort of thing, but there was no use flaunting it. In a week Buffy had only spoken once, asking for the curtains to be closed.  
  
Willow set the soup and juice on her bedside table. She lifted her head to meet her stony gaze. "Buffy?" No answer. She sat at the end of her bed, watching her friend's reaction. Willow was beginning to think she would rather deal with violence than this- stillness. This wasn't the catatonia of just a few days ago, when Dawn had first been kidnapped by Glory; this was the way some grieved, the statue of how Buffy looked at the exact moment she knew her sister was gone. Once she unfroze, Willow feared, she would be something new entirely, wouldn't she? Too bad she had had a psycho as a first-year psychology professor; she would have continued, and ten maybe she would have been better equipped to deal with helping her friend deal with the death of her sister. Buffy had to get better; everyone had taken turns- everyone, that is, except Anya, they weren't sure what Buffy's reaction would be quite yet. And Spike, but they weren't exactly sure why they didn't ask him. Some things better left unsaid. The redhead tried very hard to remain a good friend, but she was almost beginning to feel the twinges of impatience. Tara had just been returned to her, and neither had the energy to spend very much time together.  
  
Willow stood up and moved her way to the curtains. She could hear Buffy stirring behind her, in a sort of struggle, deciding between keeping her silence or keeping her darkness. The dark finally won out.  
  
"Keep them closed." The slayer's voice was a little bit metallic, from the disuse. She gave a little cough. "Please."  
  
Willow turned to her. "Do you listen to me when everyone talks to you?" Buffy nodded. "Mostly."  
  
She repeated her first question when she had entered the room. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Tired."  
  
"I don't think you've slept."  
  
"I did, but I." Buffy stalled a little, letting the silence drift in. "I try not to, now."  
  
Willow nodded, understanding. She herself had dreams, or at least she thought she did. She could never remember them in the morning. She watched Buffy, who was busy watching her back. Willow sat back on the end of the bed, as carefully as ever. She waited for Buffy to speak, to tell her something, to ask her to help. Buffy didn't. Willow couldn't help feeling both a little hurt and a little guilty.  
  
"We tried, Buffy. We really did. We fought as long and as hard as we ever have. But it just wasn't enough. We tried not to. If you only knew what Giles did. Anya didn't have any choice." She took a deep breath, tried to find something comforting to say. "I think Dawn-"  
  
At her sister's name Buffy straightened sharply. "Get out." Her voice was rough, dangerous-sounding, full of contempt and anger. Willow sat stunned for a moment. "Get out," Buffy said, even quieter this time. Willow thought of Drusilla, swaying before the strike. She made her way out of the room, shutting the door. It clicked like a gun's chamber turning.  
  
  
  
A knock sounded on the front door minutes after the sun went down. The noise made Willow jump some, then she forced herself to relax. She had held a book in her lap for hours, the words forming nothing but a mosaic of letters. The house was quiet, but not calm. A nervous tension choked. It wasn't Xander; he had said he would be there, but he wouldn't have knocked. She hid her book underneath the sofa cushion and then answered the door.  
  
His face darkened a little on seeing her. "Red," he nodded curtly. Willow wasn't sure exactly how to react to his greeting. The last she had seen of him had been after the battle with Glory, when she and Tara had followed him home. He had gone into the crypt and slammed the door, telling them to "bugger off," if they hadn't gotten the message. She kept her voice neutral.  
  
"Hi Spike." She stood just inside. He stood a couple feet back on the covered porch, throwing half his face in shadow and the rest in gold light.  
  
"How is she? Has she-?" he left it there, his jaw tensing.  
  
"She's awake, and her leg's nearly healed." Spike waved his hand impatiently. "A Slayer's always going to heal. I was more worried about how she's reacted to the murder of her sister."  
  
Murder. The word had never been stated like that. In fact, nobody had put a single word to it, it was simply something that had to be done right then. She wondered why Spike put it like that. It made her head spin a little, and she tucked the thought away. "She's all right. Doesn't talk much, but we'll help her deal. She'll be all right. It just takes a little time." Willow felt like a liar.  
  
He didn't know what else to say, and he felt stupid standing there. This brought him back to Joyce's death. Except he could have done something to prevent this one. He wondered how much whisky he had at home. Guilt had been a greedy drinking companion over the past week.  
  
He nodded, and turned to leave, catching movement in his peripheral vision. Buffy stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in black jeans and a black t- shirt. What had he told her on these stairs? that she made him feel like a man?  
  
She held out her hand, beckoning for him to come. He glanced at Willow, who was also watching Buffy. The Slayer had obviously been in worse wear than the witch was letting on if she could look that surprised. He kept his face careful, if that was possible. He went halfway up the stairway. "Yeh, pet?" He didn't wait a beat when she turned and went down the hall, into a room. From being here before he knew it was Dawn's bedroom. Or was Dawn's bedroom.  
  
The room was that of a typical teenage girl. The purple, the posters on the wall, the jewellery boxes, the clothes left on the floor. No one had been in here since- he was tired of thinking in these terms. His life was beginning to be composed of before and afters: After being turned, After the chip, after falling in love with Buffy, after the death of his only friend. Dawn had been his only friend. He had tried to save her, would have gladly have offered his one hundred and twenty years if it would have meant her safety. But his life hadn't been a fair trade. It was always about balance, or so those buggers from the powers that be tried to make you believe. He wasn't particularly feeling any sense of balance. And neither was Buffy. She stood in the middle of the room, looking as though she was lost, looking for something to do. She turned back to him, as if suddenly remembering he was there.  
  
"Spike-" she tried to say something, but her voice stopped. She sat down on the floor, leaning against her sister's bed and a tear slid down her cheek. Spike moved to stand next to her, and feeling as though he was being granted permission he sat down. She put her head on his shoulder and began to cry.  
  
Willow sat at the top of the staircase, the cordless phone in her hands. She heard movement from Dawn's room, and Buffy begin to cry. Spike's few soft consolations drifted out. Willow moved back downstairs and into the kitchen, where she dialled Xander's number. 


	5. Intervention

"And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?  
  
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more  
  
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?  
  
What are thy rents? What are thy comings-in?  
  
O ceremony, show me but thy worth." William Shakespeare, King Henry, Henry V (IV,I,1237-41).  
  
"How exactly do you think this will go? With as much detail as possible, please." Anya's words broke up the collective thoughts, putting their questions to words. Willow, Giles, and Tara looked at her. The morning light through the Magic Box's window cast barely any light on the table, and they sat in dimness, barely noticing.  
  
"I don't know." Giles pinched the bridge of his nose. " At this time, any reaction would be quite helpful."  
  
Anya looked worried. "Except extreme rage directed at a certain party."  
  
"Of course," he assured her, his voice carefully level.  
  
"She hates me," Anya stated, a little mournful. Willow patted her hand. She hates me, too."  
  
After the last episode a few weeks ago, when Buffy had first spoke and had shut out Willow while proving her trust for Spike, plans began as to how best approach Buffy's state. Despite trying endlessly to talk to her, to reach her on any level, their efforts were in vain. She took care of herself and needed very little, if any, help from her friends. The few times she did see any of them she ignored any mention of Dawn or Glory, and would remove herself from their presence as fast as possible. It was a wonder she had agreed to the meeting at the Magic Box. Under false pretenses, but nevertheless.  
  
Anya stood up, and began to rearrange items on shelves. Her nervous energy filled the room, making them all uneasier than they thought they would be. Buffy hadn't seen Anya since the night on the tower. Which was precisely what this meeting was about.  
  
"Anya, maybe if you stopped pacing and sat down-" Tara began. Anya rounded on her.  
  
"I CAN'T!! I- I don't know what to do. And all I did was kept my word. But we can't tell her that though, can I? No. Instead, I have to be the only one with any responsibility. I kept my promise. I did her job, right? Isn't that what she was supposed to do? I can't do this, but I have to. Just like I killed Dawn."  
  
"Yes, we all owe a lot to Anya." Anya looked up sharply, just as the others did. Spike stood at the door leading into the gym and storeroom. His hands jammed in the black coat's pockets, he gave a small barking laugh. "The Scoobies of yesteryear never would have even thought of it. Of purposely going behind the Slayer's back. Of course, that would have been before this was all considered a hobby." He took a step further into the room. "Came to ask about the Slayer, but it looks like you all have it figured out."  
  
"I think you should leave, Spike." Willow said this with a hard edge to her voice, a voice Spike wouldn't have thought possible from this girl a year ago.  
  
"No, I'm thinking I should stay here, unless you want to take care of a possibly explosive Slayer. Who knows what a Slayer is capable of? Oh, wait, we all do." He let his eyes drift to each of the Scoobies as he said this, then let them rest on Anya. Spike wouldn't particularly care whether they lived or died, which didn't particularly worry them. What he now knew did.  
  
"I was havin' a smoke round back, thought t'ask the watcher something. And I won't tell her." He dug through his jacket and pulled out another cigarette., more to busy himself with something than an actual need to smoke. "She needs you all too much. But any help I have given you, unless she specifically asks, is over." He was so completely her pet vamp now, wasn't he?  
  
"Thank you," Giles said formally, clearing his throat. None were unaware of the irony of the role reversal. The four Scoobies sat at the table, and Spike on a barstool across. They remained in silence until Buffy and Xander arrived.  
  
  
  
Buffy was led to the table, Xander taking hold lightly of her elbow. "What's going on?" she tried to keep her voice neutral, even as panic threatened. Swallowing the fear as best she could, at the very least not making it visible. Except to Spike, who she was surprised to see there. But Spike had that unnerving power to know what was going through her head at all times. He averted his eyes upon feeling her unease. What was going on? No one answered her until she was seated, Giles having offered his seat. When she focused on Anya, sitting directly across from her, her throat constricted, making it hard to breath. She nodded at the other girl reassuringly. All looked a little tired around the edges, and she hated it. No matter what happened in the past, they had always worked through it. But now they were her problem, and that hurt more than anything.  
  
Giles was the first to speak, the obvious spokesperson for the group. "Buffy, we're worried about you. You have told us you're fine, while virtually cutting yourself from each of us." He had moved out of Buffy's line of vision purposely, and at this last part he looked at Spike as if to confirm this. Spike's eyes were on Buffy's back, keeping his face blank.  
  
"We're here to help Buffy, as hard as it is to accept help. We all need it at times of grief. We have told this to you before, each individually, but now we've gathered to let you know that we are making ourselves available to talk."  
  
"An intervention, Giles?" She turned to look up at him. "Is that what this is? You've all gathered to tell me that everything's going to be okay? All it takes is time? That sort of thing?"  
  
"Buff, we didn't mean to do this to corner you. Or maybe we did. We just need to talk to you, and let you talk to us. You haven't said anything, and we don't think it's healthy. I think maybe you're getting worse, rather than better, "Xander said. He stood beside Anya, in both support and to ask why Spike was present. Anya had filled him in during Giles' opening speech.  
  
"I think that a regular schedule, a return to pattern, and creating a new pattern, will get you on the right track," Tara spoke. All were carefully using "I think" statements, following Willow's directions. "Maybe you could go back to school, or take a class, or even just go out now and then. But first you need to speak to someone."  
  
"And perhaps you could return to training, to relieve some of your tension. It is normal for a Slayer to-"  
  
"I'm not going to train." Buffy's words came out evenly, without any hint of her inner turmoil. She inspected her cuticles carefully.  
  
"Buffy, as your watcher, and as your friend, I believe you need the solid routine of slaying," Giles persisted. "It would turn your focus. In combination with relaxation techniques-"  
  
Buffy stood up so fast her chair clattered to the ground. "Giles! Stop. I'm not going to feel better by doing the same thing everyday. This needs to stop! I can't take this anymore. I- I can't do this. I look at all of you and-" she bit back a sob. Because that's what Slayers do. Not for the first time a voice told her that was her problem. "I look at all of you and I remember everything. I need some time off. Away from- I need more than a few weeks to be able to do it again."  
  
"If word gets out that the Slayer is inactive, chaos would occur. Both metaphorically and physically." Giles spoke and cleaned his glasses. He knew he was insensitive, but he had to think like a watcher, even when it hurt the most. He didn't want to have to dispose of any of their bodies, ever.  
  
"I've been on it," Spike bit out.  
  
"Wow, and the citizens of Sunnydale can sleep better knowing that it's Captain Peroxide's watch." Xander's sarcasm was to be expected, and generally ignored, but Buffy spoke before thinking.  
  
"Stop, Xander." Her two simple words drew the line between them all.  
  
He looked back and forth between Buffy and Spike, as if a connection had suddenly been made. "He's been around, hasn't he Buffy? You refuse to see any of your friends, but you'll turn to a vampire? And you wonder why we think anything's wrong." He saw Spike clench his jaw.  
  
"You don't know what's going on, you don't understand how I feel," she crossed her arms over her chest protectively.  
  
"Buffy, that's why we're here. We all want to know what's going on, how you feel, and how we can help you heal," Willow pleaded.  
  
"No, you don't. You want to go back to the way things were, and I can't."  
  
"Actually, maybe we can." Willow took a deep breath, looked around the table, weighing her options. Everyone's attention on her, she self- consciously pulled a thin leather book from her bag.  
  
"Where did you get that?" Giles asked, his voice more Ripper's than his own. Willow didn't answer, but her hands shook a little as she turned the pages. She held the book up to Buffy. "It's in Latin, but-"  
  
"A re-animation spell," Spike read. "Tried this once with Joyce, right? Don't fancy bit as a zombie. There is no way in hell, red."  
  
"It's not the same thing. Joyce died of Supernatural causes. But Dawn-"  
  
"Died of a knife wound or a hundred-foot drop, either one. I'd hardly call that natural!" Spike said sharply.  
  
"Did you think of the repercussions, at all? There will be absolutely none of this." Giles reached out and grabbed the book.  
  
Buffy felt ill. "I can't be here, I need to leave." She stood in place, taking gulps of air. Could she get Dawn back?  
  
"I know something that may work." Anya spoke. "If the spell the monks put on all of us, the false memories of Dawn, we wouldn't feel this pain." Giles gave this some consideration, While Buffy turned livid.  
  
"Pain? How could you know anything about pain? Besides your thousand years afflicting it?"  
  
"I had to be the one to- I had to actually-"  
  
"Stab her? Then throw her off a tower?" Buffy offered.  
  
Anya stood on the other side of the room, backed into a corner.  
  
"You can still kill someone you love and still survive, can't you Buffy? Isn't that exactly what you did to Angel? The difference is I didn't run away."  
  
"No, the difference is Dawn didn't fight for the cause. Angel did, he fought."  
  
"Dawn was the key," Anya insisted. "Doesn't that make her more about the cause than anyone else? The monks made her your sister so that you would protect her. It wasn't your fault you couldn't, but I'm not for the cause. And yet I still had to be the one to save the world. You didn't see the inevitable, and yet we all came this close to dying."  
  
Buffy took a few calm baby steps around the table towards Anya. Oh no, Spike thought to himself. He was torn between watching, as he was sure he would enjoy this, or springing to action when needed.  
  
"As the Slayer, I'm in charge. It has to be my life on the line, every night. And I'm tired of it. Did you know it could have been me instead of her?" Buffy pointed to herself. "Same blood, She was made from me. That was the way it was supposed to be. Death was my gift. I didn't understand what that meant, until I was up on that tower. I was ready to give up my life for her." She moved into strike at whatever was nearest, the glass portion of the table. Spike was prepared, and grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her side. She did however manage to kick at the display case, shattering it. Items clattered to the floor. She tried to twist free from his grip, but he held fast. She instead backed them both into the bookshelf, causing it to topple over. The Scoobies moved out of direct range, feeling quite useless. Spike flinched as if he were in pain, yet he said nothing. She suddenly dropped to the ground, amid the glass, shaking with frustration.  
  
"C'mon, pet, let's get you home." Spike looked to the Scoobies, and motioned at the least offending of the Scoobies. "The suns out, but I'll meet you at home, all right luv? Tara's goin' to drive you home. You don't have to speak if you don't want to, you don't have to say anything." Buffy tensed slightly, then nodded.  
  
"That's right, we'll just drive home," Tara soothed. The two headed out, Buffy a few feet behind Tara, as if unwilling to go with the girl.  
  
"Well that worked just brilliant then, didn't it?" He coldly assessed the others in the room, then turned to leave via the back.  
  
"Spike." He was stopped on the stairs by Giles. "I hope I don't need to remind you that she's very vulnerable right now. Having you to depend on may not be in her best interests."  
  
"She knows I'm there, Rupert. Only reason she lets me around. I'm not going to pretend it's anything than that." He turned away, and went down a few steps, feeling the watcher's eyes on him. "Just answer me this: Knowing that you were all prepared to kill Dawn if need be, do you think you fought nearly as hard as you would have? If you had no options, rather than to save her? Because then you'd understand how me and the Slayer fought." Neither said another word as Spike turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs. 


	6. Deemed Unfit

- This chapter is dedicated to my new friend Rosie, who has been waiting patiently, hee hee. Hope there are people still reading this..  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Violence stops thought. Hence its popularity as a pain-killer." Mason Cooley  
  
  
  
In the early morning hours of November, the city was dark, a clear night, millions of stars visible over the city's canals .The normally bustling centre remained nearly empty in this particular section of town, a commerce centre in the day. All was quiet, except the occasional sound coming from an alley. Five were waging a war few knew of, while the city's residents slept safely in their beds or continued with their evening out.  
  
A young woman and four vampires. Already the fight had gone on for far too long, yet the girl continued to kick and punch her opponents, dodging when they got in the occasional swing. She felt confident, secure in the knowledge that she was going to win. It was quite therapeutic.  
  
When she proved more than capable on taking the three, Spike hopped onto a nearby crate, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He smoked thoughtfully, only shrugging when Buffy gave him a questioning look over her shoulder. She quickly finished off her challengers.  
  
"It's not as much fun fighting without talking. I need to fight someone who speaks American!" She exclaimed, tucking her stake away. She leisurely stretched her arms over her head.  
  
"British would count, I'll assume. Fancy a go, luv?" Spike stubbed out the smoke, jumping from his seat. There was an unmistakable twinkle in her eye as she eyed him up and down. "Nah," she finally answered. He continued stalking forward. "Another sort then?" his innuendo rolling off his tongue. She grinned, took a step forward, and dropped to the ground, sweeping her feet around her and taking him out on the knees. He hadn't expected it, and even as he was falling she was already upright.  
  
He looked up at her, propping himself on his elbows. "Now luv, that was just poor sportsmanship."  
  
"Yup." Her rare grin became a smirk. It was as if a switch had been hit. Buffy to Slayer.  
  
"So now I'm assuming all bets are off."  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
He got to his feet in the time it would have taken some to blink. "C'mon now, and here I thought you wanted some of your trademark humour?"  
  
"Mostly I want to know what you were thinking when you were watching me fight."  
  
"Nope. Classified."  
  
"I bet I can make you tell me."  
  
"Bet you can't."  
  
The fight intensified with the wager, both feeling reminiscent, one of the few times memories weren't accompanied with pain. When the two of them fought, there was the fight, nothing outside. It had always been this way. It was a dance, Spike had told her that night at the Bronze. This she had known before, before he had told her, before he had tried to kiss her and she hadn't let him. That had been the night where everything had - she couldn't exactly say changed, because something had always been there - but that had been the moment where it was all thrown in her face. She sometimes damned both herself and him for that moment.  
  
After five or so minutes of a draw, Buffy decided she wasn't going to win this way. So she drastically changed tactics. When Spike held his opponent's arms against the brick wall, a triumphant grin on his face, he had known he had won. Until his opponent leaned forward to lick the shell of his ear. "Now this definitely isn't fair," he moaned. In response she wrapped her legs around his hips.  
  
"I'm fighting dirty, am I?" She nibbled on his earlobe, and he pressed harder into her, obviously enjoying his defeat.  
  
"Now are you going to tell me? Because it doesn't look like you're getting out of this one," she challenged.  
  
"I can fight just as brutal, Slayer." He slowly unbuttoned her shirt, never losing eye contact as he saw her pupils dilate by the mere brush of his hands on her skin. That's around where all thoughts ended.  
  
  
  
-Sunnydale, months before- Buffy did need a routine after her sister's death, as Giles had suggested. Spike had seen to this, before the disastrous meeting at the Magic Box.  
  
After Buffy's tears in Dawn's room, Spike had come every night. At sundown she would leave the door unlocked and he would be there an hour and a half later, after a quick patrol, and he would let himself in. This was far different than when he had been locked out, just mere weeks before. It didn't make him as happy as he thought it would.  
  
He didn't know how she did it, but never did he meet another of the Scoobies. He didn't know if they came during the day, or if she was seeing them at all. They didn't talk about her friends. She rarely spoke at all. A few times they watched TV, but it felt too removed to Spike, when that was the last thing she needed. So mostly Spike did the talking. It didn't matter what about. On a few occasions, he would grab a book from the shelf and read from somewhere in the middle, following after Buffy as she paced the house. She never wanted to leave the house, just packed up anything that was Dawn's and put it in the garage.  
  
Most of the time, when he was left out of things to say, which was more often than he had expected, he would tell stories of himself, ones she may find amusing. Her favourites were of his time in Italy when he had still been human. He had always held those stories of William back, from everyone. But he had run out of stories, and silence must be fought at all costs.  
  
To be honest, he had thought her asleep. Curled up in a chair, her breathing remained slow and steady. He had begun embellishing, hiding what a complete and utter whelp he had been in his human days. While other vampires could talk about their selves alive as if it were completely separate from themselves, Spike had never been able to do that. He felt a particular closeness to his roots, for whatever reason. In his experience, he felt as though he were still William, just as a vampire, i.e. with sharper teeth and such and no conscience. It cleared it up for him, rather than cause confusion.  
  
Looking at Buffy, studying her when she wasn't aware, Spike was sometimes torn between wanting to be human. Just sometimes, mind you, but enough. If he was human he knew she would love him, that was a fact. But if he was human, she wouldn't be able to, she would end it, because she knew she was different. She had a world to protect. In reality, she wouldn't love him now for what he was. She had even doubted his love, hadn't she? As if he could confuse love for lust. Not that he had said anything about still loving her. These things were best ignored, lest she come to her senses and kick him out.  
  
He had just begun at the beginning, how William's (his?) aunt had paid for a trip to Italy, in the hopes that he would meet a fine English girl travelling abroad. William was just wealthy enough to have a woman marry him for money, as well as the good family name. Not that any of that mattered, as he had already had his heart set on Cecily Adams. He spent the entire four months away writing poems writing of her beauty and grace, rather than finding himself a suitable wife. He had just gotten to the part of the story where he was accused of stealing an orange from an angry grocer who didn't speak a word of English, when Spike began to trail off. After a few moments of silence.  
  
"Then what happened? What did you do?" Buffy asked.  
  
Surprised she had been awake the whole time, he spoke honestly. "I handed him back the oranges and ran like hell, several blocks. Quite unfashionable for a man of the time to do through the streets of Rome." Buffy laughed, trying to imagine Spike, with his bleached hair and leather coat trailing after him, running from an angry shop keeper. Each time he told her stories of his travelling as a human, he embellished it more and more , to get her to smile. Despite some of the more ludicrous elements he added, it felt more honest this way. Which he was quite happy to do with her, watching her smile. So he visited her every night for nearly a month. Which was why he was so on edge the night she wasn't there, with the front door left unlocked. No one, even (especially) the Slayer left their door unlocked when they weren't there. Who knows what could get in, waiting for you when you came home. He knew she wasn't there on first opening the door. He still isn't quite sure how he knew, but he did, more sure about that than anything, like someone could tell you "oh, it's Tuesday". He checked over the house just in case, finding nothing missing but her coat and Mr. Pointy, always kept on her dresser.  
  
She had told Kendra that anger can only help you fight. Never had she been able to feel the other spectrum, the sort of place where the deceased Slayer would have felt at home. Now she thought with the cool efficiency that didn't allow feeling. It felt pretty good.  
  
As soon as the sun had dropped to just above the horizon she hurried out to Weatherly Park, knowing she would arrive just a few minutes after dark. She climbed the fence, hopping over, scanning the playground equipment and trees. She had discovered a nest of vampires using the park as a sort of permanent spot. They didn't hunt there, as even the most stupid of teenagers wouldn't be anywhere around at night, for fear of their lives. Last she had known there were about ten there; by now that could have been thirty. She didn't care why they were there, or if anyone was in charge. All that mattered was that there were enough that she could die fighting. She had known right before Glory had discovered that Dawn was the key, yet had decided that it while it was a problem it wasn't urgent. Funny thing about vampires, she had learned, is that they're always there.  
  
She was disappointed to find only eight. The rest had probably gone on to feed first, and would arrive later. It was, after all, only minutes after sundown. While she could have waited, what put off what she could do now? Eight was a perfectly serviceable number.  
  
Buffy killed one, a woman who looked about to be thirty, before her presence was even noticed. It was the second, a seventeen year old boy with a half-blue Mohawk, that got her the attention she needed. While the boy wasn't any good of a fighter, barring his supernatural speed and strength, he did manage to make more sound than it was worth. Getting impatient, she finished him off, only to meet with the other six. This was what she had counted on, yet still felt a sickness in her stomach. Behind them she stared at a woman she knew from college, now dead, spread on the picnic table.  
  
One approached, a heavy set man, and before he could even raise his arm she dusted him. The others approaching stopped, as if finally realizing who she was. A clean cut young man stepped forward from behind the group. He held his hands up in a defensive manner, as if calling a momentary truce. "Slayer, right. Here, how about we all just go our separate ways, all right? You leave, we'll leave. I've got three of my best behind me, neither of us want to take our chances. If you find us here tomorrow, then you and all your little buddies can dust us. Sound good?" he said.  
  
"It's just me," she said calmly, and watched herself as if in a movie as she threw a stake at the vampire to clean cut's left, missing the heart by a mere inch. The Slayer never misses by accident. She had already decided that he would be the last one standing. Clean-cut turned to run, but she threw him on another of the vampires. Both fell over, wasting seconds attempting to get themselves upright. In this time Buffy was able to blind a biker-type with a vial of holy water, leaving himself open. Buffy was kicked in the stomach by the muscly one she had stabbed, which she countered with a kick to his solar plexus that sent him reeling. She stabbed biker, just in time to dust the girl that had fallen with clean cut, who was already halfway through the park, running faster than Buffy thought possible. He didn't matter though. She was spun around and held tight around the throat by muscly. She gave a few weak punches for show. The two stood nose at nose, her lifted a few inches off the ground. He had vamped out, lowering his teeth to her neck, yet when she stopped fighting he jerked his head back in surprise. He studied her for a moment with his feral eyes, torn between his instinct that this was a trap and his blood lust. The blood won out, in spite of his suspicions. The teeth scraped the skin, punctured the first few layers of skin. Then Spike was standing where the vampire had, dust flying around them.  
  
"Good thing I came when I did, luv." She ignored the anger in his voice, refused to look at anything other than a tree over his shoulder.  
  
"It was almost his one good day," she answered, and before the words had even left her mouth he slapped her, enough to make her cheek sting, but she refused to let it show.  
  
"Don't think I don't know what's going on here, Summers. You think there aren't hundreds out there commiting suicide?" he spat. "I've been a vampire long enough to help a few along. I saw the whole thing, saw you stop fighting."  
  
"I would never-"  
  
"Liar! Why else would you go out by yourself, armed with little more than a stick of wood, after 6 weeks of not fighting? To a spot you were expecting more than a few vamps? If it was a fight I knew you were itching for I would have gladly given it to you." He narrowed his eyes, tilted his head studying her. "Is that what you want?"  
  
"We should get out of here, more will be back-"  
  
"I've been clearing this place for weeks, you just finished the last of 'em. Now answer me. Do you want a fight?"  
  
She stepped back from him, but he advanced on her, two steps to her every step. "Answer me, Slayer."  
  
"I'm not the Slayer, anymore." She hadn't meant to tell him, but the words came out.  
  
"Of course you are, you'll always be-"  
  
"No, I'm not!" she yelled. She pulled a fat envelope from her jacket pocket and threw it at his chest. He caught it and looked at her curiously. "Go on, read them. As of tonight, I am no longer the Slayer. Technically I haven't been the Slayer since I died." He looked confused, so she filled in the blanks. "I died at the hands of the Master, on prom night. He bit me, then I drowned. Xander gave me CPR to bring me back." Spike, through the current muddled state of his brain, silently swore to kiss the whelp on the mouth next time he saw him, no matter how much they hated each other.  
  
"The Council's been using me. But now they have decided to reinstate Faith. She was moved to a council facility months ago, and has been deemed fit to continue her duties as Slayer. While me, I've been declared-" she stopped, her throat constricting. Buffy had committed most of the enclosed documents by heart, having done little that day but read them over and over again.  
  
"They- They can't do this can they? Does Giles know?" Spike's previous anger towards her was now redirected at the watchers.  
  
"I told him before the fight- that if Dawn died I ceased to be the Slayer. He relayed this information to the council, for my well being. Or some shit like that."  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
"I just want to go home." They walked to 1630 Revello in silence. 


	7. Nothing Keeps

To Rosie- sorry I took so long.  
  
Comfort's in heaven, and we are on earth,  
Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.  
William Shakespeare.  
  
She looked dead when she slept. At the thought he tightens his grip, holds her closer to his chest, feeling her heartbeat and pretending it's his own for a moment. Outside the shuttered windows he could hear the city waking. He didn't know why she was in his bed, but wouldn't ask. If she did answer it wouldn't be the truth.  
  
He was only hurting himself in the long run.  
  
He felt her wake, knew it instinctively, yet she didn't open her eyes. He willed her to go back to sleep, knowing she couldn't have more than a few hours of rest in her. He sat up against the headboard and dug his cigarettes from his jeans on the floor beside the bed.  
  
Sleeping pills might work. Of course for a slayer they'd have to triple or quadruple the dose. It might be their last chance. The dreams and anxiety would fade over time, but for the present she couldn't go on like this.  
  
"What'll we do tonight, luv?" She turned on her side towards him at his question, her eyes brilliantly green from lack of sleep, like shellac.  
  
"I want to go sight seeing."  
  
"Most of the palazzos are closed to the public, but we could break into a few if you're up for it-"  
  
"No, not like- I want to go to the demon haunts."  
  
Spike nodded slowly, considering. He knew a few, knew them all in fact, from the higher end with the best blood to the seediest with the best fights. He had no qualms about bringing her to any of them. He just didn't know which ones the council knew of.  
  
"Fine. On one, no, two, conditions: First, we're not out looking for a fight tonight. If one comes our way, so be it, but we're not starting anything. We're sight seeing. And second, we stick out, the council will know us right away if they see us. We'll both dye our hair, throw 'em off for about half a second."  
  
Buffy shrugged then climbed over him on her way to the bathroom.  
  
******  
  
She wouldn't look at him as they maneuvered around her kitchen, collecting cups and milk. The proper Englishman in him had insisted on tea. He had to buy himself some time to think, running possibilities through his head, hoping for a solution. None came. Instead, Spike opted to mutter under his breath, alternately cursing Giles and the council. He closed each drawer with enough force to rattle the window above the sink. Buffy wondered if a vampire could have an aneurism.  
  
"They don't usually retire slayers do they?" Buffy asked.  
  
"It's an exception for Slayers to live as long as you. And most don't have alternates."  
  
"Faith." She spoke the name emotionlessly.  
  
"Yeah." The kettle gave a low, fat whistle and Spike cut the noise by removing the cover over the spout, using the pain of the metal against his palm to calm himself, with little success. He added water to their mugs, tea bags thrown in to float on top. He pushed at them with his spoon, impatient to let them sink.  
  
She came towards him, then stopping a few feet behind. She couldn't read his body language, the tensing of his shoulders, his left hand grasping the counter's edge. He straightened his back, and she had to hold her instinct to move to a fighting stance.  
  
"That's why you can't retire," he said, turning to face her. He handed her a mug and headed into the dinning room. They sat across from each other, both contemplating their mugs as though it were an oracle.  
  
"I don't think it's legal, or something. Don't fancy you can take them to court, though." Buffy nodded, not really hearing. She traced her finger along a groove in the wood she'd never noticed before. She broke into an unexpected laughter, shrill and bitter. "The council paid me." Spike looked up.  
  
"Like a Slayer retirement package."  
  
"Or hush money."  
  
"So that's it, eh? They hand you a few quid and you're supposed to just. fuck them."  
"I told Giles-"  
  
"Fuck Giles too. He knew. You didn't."  
  
"Knew what?"  
  
"That you'd need the fight. You go long enough without it, it's like a need. Why would they do that, you'd be like a ticking time bomb, if you didn't-" he cut off suddenly, then bit out "kill yourself first."  
  
"They're probably hoping for it."  
  
"Yeah, probably exactly what they want. You proved them wrong, though."  
  
"Don't be sarcastic. I can't take it."  
  
"Yeah, well." He went out to the kitchen then out the back door. She knew he hadn't left. She listened to the soft thud of his heavy on the porch, to the lighting of his cigarette and the unnecessary intake of breath. He came back a few minutes later, six according to the clock above the phone. He continued as though he had never taken a pause.  
"They don't retire Slayers."  
  
"They did in my case."  
  
"On paper, maybe. I don't think you're the first retirement."  
  
"You know more than me about the other Slayers."  
  
"What do you think Watchers do? They don't watch, they manage. The Slayer must die before another is summoned and all that."  
  
"They already have Faith."  
  
"They also have you, and they'll want to tie you up with a nice little bow, tag marked 'completed'. Have all the business taken care of. Look, I've heard stories, pet."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I've heard a couple retirement stories."  
  
"And you aren't telling me anymore."  
  
"I don' think I have to luv."  
  
She nodded slowly. She did understand. She'd seen the way the Council had gone after Faith. She had been in Faith's body when she was taken into custody again. But wasn't she different? Hadn't she worked long enough for them? Fought harder, longer, than she should have? "They want to kill me."  
  
"Yeah. Giles wouldn't think of it, don' think he'd allow it. I know he wouldn't allow it. He probably cut a deal for you. Which is how you got the money."  
  
She stood up. "You're just making me paranoid. This is complete crap. Isn't it? You know what, they can try. If they really do want to come after me, they can." She moved into the living room, angrily searching it with her eyes. "So is this what my life is now? Looking over my shoulder every two minutes while I pretend my life didn't exist? I don't have anyone left. Everyone's gone, everything's different. Will they send Faith here to take over? I can't do it, I can't do it." She began pacing.  
  
"You don't have to be here. If you don't have anything keeping here, why stay?" Spike couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth as he stood in the doorway feeling like a little boy. The last thing he wanted for himself was probably the best thing for her.  
  
Buffy stopped, a force of movement even still. "Do you know why there wasn't a funeral?" Spike slowly shook his head, his eyes never leaving the curtain of hair covering his face. He had assumed the funeral had taken place when he was recovering in his crypt. "Giles reported her missing. He told the police that I was too upset to be interviewed, somehow got my doctor to cooperate and write a note so they wouldn't interview me. Today there was a search team looking for her-" she gulped for air. "I don't even know where she-" She wouldn't say anymore, just leaned into him as he moved beside her. He sat her on the couch, him crouched on his knees in front of her, holding her hand and stroking her hair. They stayed like that until she fell asleep. He carried her up the stairs to her room, and spent the night on the couch. 


End file.
